I think I’ve mentioned before, but my best friend (and maid of honor) and her husband are expecting a bundle of baby boy joy 2 weeks before Angel and I are. I think I’ve also mentioned how I’m missing out on my favorite, local, seasonal beer brewed at Four Peaks in Tempe: Pumpkin Porter. It’s like pumpkin pie… in a beer. It’s amazing and I look forward to it every year.

This year, however, it dawned on me that I’m going to be missing out, so I sent Jackie a message since she shares my love of Pumpkin Porter and her response honestly made me laugh so hard I started crying:

Just when I thought that my adorable husband couldn’t get any more adorable, he surprises me.

Yesterday I came home from work to a box on my front door that’s Mini Me’s new stroller. Naturally, it’s “some assembly required” so I was thinking Angel would get around to it in 5-6 years… from our next child. But perhaps because I don’t let him do anything with decorating the nursery, he took stroller assembly as his way to contribute to the kick-boxer that is our son. He opened the box in the entry way of the house, drug all of the parts to the family room, and assembled the whole thing while I supervised from my perch on the couch (occasionally asking him to move his big head because it was in the way of the TV). He then started pushing the stroller around the house and playing with the seat and showing me how to set it up, and collapse it.

It’s the final countdown! I’m officially 9 weeks away from my “expected due date” and I went in to the doctor this morning for the first of my “every other week” visits. I always feel so great after talking to my doctor because he makes me feel like such an ideal, textbook, pregnancy case that he can do with his eyes closed. And you know what? That’s awesomely comforting to me that he seems so blase about my whole pregnancy. He doesn’t say much, but if I ask a question he’ll talk my ear off in response. At one point a few months ago I said “I assume that no news is good news?” and he laughed and said “yeah, I’ll let you know if there’s something to be concerned about, but it all looks great!” Music to me and my little kick-boxer’s ears. We’re doing it, Mini Me!

While I was walking into his office today, two old women walking in the office complex smiled at me and said “you look so cute!” which made me smile and feel awesome because “ugly days” seem to be so much more frequent when you’re pregnant and I’m glad that I don’t look like I’ve just given up. So you rock, sweet old ladies!!

Talking to the doctor today, he started discussing delivery and post delivery. I told him that I would like to do everything I can to avoid a c section, but at the same time I trust him and if he says that I need one I’m not going to argue or be disappointed. He talked to me about the pros and cons of each and told me to think about it and he’ll plan on whatever I want. He has very compelling arguments for each and now I don’t know what I want except for this kiddo to be out! Which he said to plan to deliver between 39 and 40 weeks and he’s not really going to let me go longer (one) because of my small size and (two) because complications arise and it gets much riskier after that. So apparently November 25th is really like the speed limit when a cop is present. After about 30 minutes of chatting about delivery and post delivery plans, he smiled and told me that I “certainly have the right attitude” because I just seem genuinely excited, able to laugh, and approaching decisions with the right attitude. Which isn’t the first time that I’ve heard this from someone, but it’s not like this is a conscious choice. I’m just not worried about some things while I’m terrified of others but at the end of the day I’m just so excited to meet his little man who’s been kicking me and stealing all of my energy, food, and air for the last 31 weeks. Who, speaking of, has his adorable little food lodged directly into my left rib at the moment.

My baby is over 3 pounds, blah blah bag of oranges, sock full of nickles, etc. You get the idea. He enjoys blinking, sucking his thumb, long walks on the beach, and kicking me in the ribs and dislikes when mom tries to sleep and loud noises. At this point, I just sit on the couch and play “guess that body part sticking out of my belly” with Angel, who always looses because I’m not only a contestant, but also the judge. Poor guy.

At this point in my pregnancy I totally round down to TWO MONTHS when people ask how long I have left, especially when smashy objects are within reach.

I filed for my maternity leave last week! That means that I’m free to mentally check out of work not that it’s been approved to let me leave on October 26th and not come back until February. Computer passwords, what?

And ohmygod how I can I forget to mention that we got our nursery furniture delivered last week!! We’re still missing a few pieces, but the dresser and crib are here, and that’s really the most important part anyway. So naturally, I spent hours getting everything set up and put away. I still have a little bit to do and organize before I move on to the baby’s bathroom (exchanging prescription medicine bottles for band-aids and infant shampoo). Still a work in progress, but here’s what adorable little Mini Me’s room looks like:

there’s a hutch that goes over the changing table that we’re still waiting on and the mobile over the rocker was my Friday night crafting project

The Crib ❤

The whole room (though dark). There’s great natural lighting in the room which really results in some crappy photos

Now because my beloved La-Z-Boy has been relocated to its rightful home, I’ve been reading my Kindle in the nursery and falling asleep almost daily. This weekend I woke up in the chair and found Molly sleeping on the floor right next to me guarding me and the baby. I’m guessing that she wouldn’t be nearly as protective if she knew what this little man is going to take from her in 8-9 weeks.

So there you have it. A delivery deadline, a nursery, and a protective dog. That about sums up my week!

I really don’t appreciate writing things three and four times, so I decided to split up this week’s Maternity Monday blog entry. Here’s the second half of my post, if it wasn’t deleted twice this morning:

On Saturday I convinced my adorable husband to wake up at 6am, dress up, and take maternity photos with me. I think that he (secretly) got into it and by the end was (secretly) enjoying himself. We even took our fur baby along and turned them into a bit of family photos since this is the last time that it’s just going to be the three of us in a photo and I imagine this alien I’m growing inside of me is going to harass Molly until she hides from him for the rest of her life.

Here is a sneak peek at a few of our maternity photos from this weekend. If you want to check out all of the proofs, the information to do so is at the bottom of this post:

I’ve heard that light orbs in photos are spirits that are around you when the photo was taken. I would like to think this is true because most of the photos that I’ve seen the orbs in are ones taken during major life events. For instance, this one that my friend snapped at my wedding when I was dancing with my dad:

I showed this one to my grandpa and told him about the light orbs and that I thought one of them was my grandma and my grandpa said he agreed. While I was looking through the proofs of the maternity photos just now (as in the first time that I wrote this), I came across one where I was admiring my belly and there were three orbs. I would like to think that these are my grandma, my grandpa, and the baby who we lost in December and the lights are over my heart- right where they belong:

And because I may have jacked the last one off of her website, please give credit to Brooke Oliphant of Keki Photography (www.kekiphotography.com) for her amazing work.

On a lighter note, I made Angel sweet potato casserole last night. This is a big thing because it’s probably his favorite side dish ever and I strongly detest sweet potatoes. If they were to not survive a Zombie Apocalypse, I would carry on the exact same after my sweet-potato-free party that I throw. But I decided to make it for Angel for being so sweet to me and loving me through all of my neurotic mood swings the last 30 weeks. I didn’t try any, but he told me that he LOVED them and then he ate about half and told me again that they were the best he’s ever had (I probably made up that last comment but I’m pretty proud of myself).

So I had this great, creative, witty, BIG post about the Zombie Apocalypse, sweet potatoes, and dead relatives, and then I hit “save draft” and my blog thought that I hit the super-secret non existent “delete all and waste my time” button. So I was forced to rewrite a crappier version of the blog entry and when I hit “publish” my blog thought that was also the super secret “delete all” button that still does not exist. So now you’re stuck with a crappier version of a crappy version of an amazing blog entry. And you can blame it all on my computer being a bitch.

I am officially in the home stretch. 69 days stand between me and our expected arrival of Baby Rivas. I commented to Angel yesterday that it feels like it went by so quickly and he said: “Really?! No it doesn’t!” but I decided to assume that he meant that in a “no, you absolutely haven’t been a pain in the ass the last 30 weeks, babe” kind of way. It also probably didn’t help that this conversation was had on the way to Buy Buy Baby to purchase a crib mattress against his will.

My pregnancy email this week says that my baby is 17 inches long and 3 pounds “or about the size of a head of cabbage.” I would like to know what kind of freaky Farmer’s Market the writers of babycenter.com shop at that sells 17 inch, 3 pound cabbage because I call BS on their analogy.

My OB was right at 14 weeks when he told me that if I could already feel movement that it meant my “third trimester was going to suck.” At this point I’m starting to worry that I’m gestating a pissed-off house cat. He’s swimming around in about a pint of fluid now that will decrease as he grows. It makes me happy to know that at least one of us is still able to drink pints, and I hope for his sake that it’s something good, like Four Peaks Brewery Pumpkin Porter. I’m having a fall baby, after all. Mini Me is also starting to thin some of his crazy body hair and will continue to do so until he’s born.

My baby at 30 weeks. Isn’t he sweet?

In nursery news, the furniture is getting delivered on Wednesday. I think they forgot all about me until I called them last week asking what the ETA was on furniture that I don’t need yet. The little boy on the other end of the phone asked me if there were stairs in my house and when I said “oh, yeah” I could hear a loud sign on the other end of the phone. Yeah, I’m not stupid, I know this crap is heavy and there’s a lot of it and that’s exactly why we paid you to haul it up my stairs with the sharp turn half way up. Enjoy, and you’re welcome.

Last night, somewhere between the 2nd and 3rd time that I woke up to use the bathroom (and it was only 12:30- Oh my God I’m not going to miss this), insomnia set in so I naturally started thinking about things that have no place in my brain in the middle of the night. For instance, “I need to remember to tell my coverage at work to request security access to so-and-so system tomorrow.” I’m talking about very productive thoughts, here.

And then they started down the anxiety ridden path of what’s coming in the next few months in regards to Little Man. I’ve never been concerned with what comes after pregnancy but I guess now it’s hitting me that I am RUNNING OUT OF TIME. What if I need more burp clothes but I’m too tired to leave the house to get some? What if I don’t have time to wash his clothes? Those thoughts were my biggest worries until last night when I started to realize that I’m genuinely scared. What if something happens to Mini Me or me during labor? What if he gets stung by a scorpion? What do I do if he gets a fever in the middle of the night and I don’t realize it? These thoughts are so much more terrifying than trying to fit in another load of laundry into an exhausting day.

But then it hit me. Literally. Angel rolled over and his arm hit me. I’m not in this alone and if I don’t notice a fever in the middle of the night, Angel will. If I run out of diapers, one of us can run to the store while the other fabricates a disposable diaper out of paper towels and then we can laugh about our failure while we wipe poop off of the nursery room walls. I have no idea how to explain to a boy how to use the bathroom but you know who does? His dad. I don’t know how to play G.I. Joes, but neither does Mini Me so he’s not going to know that I’m doing it wrong until Dad does it right. This little boy is so lucky to have him as a dad and he doesn’t even know it yet.

So then I started thinking about just how lucky I am to have such a great husband! The first two years of marriage has already had some tough obstacles that we weren’t expecting but when things got tough, Angel knew just how to let me be the right amount of sad before he distracted me. While it drives me crazy that I’m always the one to clean the bathroom, the pool doesn’t appear to be growing anything and I know we don’t have a pool boy (because I’ve asked for one). And are 3 junk drawers a sign that we’ve finally made it or that we’re hoarders? The point is that I am so happy with my frustrating husband, dog who doesn’t always follow the rules, and kicking baby who makes me pee 4 times a night, that it feels like there’s no way that this can be my life. Do I really drive a mom-mobile with a car seat in it to take my dog to the groomer? I would never be able to own my own house with an adorable nursery for my son if it wasn’t for the love of the guy laying next to me.

And then Angel started snoring and I thought “Wow, that’s annoying. But I’m still pretty lucky.”